


Closer Combat

by Mytha



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Admiration, F/F, and the perils thereof, lusting after strong women
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-09 02:07:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14707086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mytha/pseuds/Mytha
Summary: For RipplesofAqua, who wondered what would happen if Harding admired Cassandra's muscles (and Cassandra) from afar.





	Closer Combat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RipplesOfAqua](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RipplesOfAqua/gifts).



“I was thinking about working on my close combat skills.”

It was a spur of the moment excuse – a not so cunning lie to hide the true reason Lace Harding had been watching the Seeker's training regime so intently – and so often.

Apparently once too often, for Cassandra had finally turned to her, walked over to where she was resting, back against the warm stones of the Herald's Rest in the late spring sun, and asked if she had something to say to her.

It was unlike her to get into such trouble but, oh, the Seeker was truly magnificent. Should Lace be blamed for giving in to the mesmerizing charm of Cassandra's powerful body performing to perfection the art of swordsmanship? The way the elegant muscles of her arms danced? For wanting to commit to memory the way the angular planes of Cassandra's strong and noble face shifted in earnest concentration and determination, with an intensity that thrilled her so? At least this is what she had told herself, allowing herself to spend longer each day watching the impressive warrior train.

From where she usually stood, waiting for orders from the Inquisition's spymaster, it was unavoidable to hear the sounds of the training - sometimes even Cassandra's voice, both rich and deep, and sending shivers down Lace's spine with each yell and grunt – and only a few steps to watch it. Others sometimes did, she had noticed, there often were a soldier or two overtly – or not so overtly - admiring the warriors who trained in front of Skyhold's tavern.

Only now – now, the imposing physique, stern features, intense eyes and deep voice of Cassandra Pentaghast were immovably and arrestingly planted in front of her, and Lace Harding found it all but impossible to rein in the thoughts she had foolishly allowed to run free but a moment ago, and to form a coherent thought.

“I was... watching – and I was thinking – you truly are the most skilled fighter the Inquisition has. Why not – learn from the best?” She laughed nervously, feeling the blush hot in her cheeks.

Cassandra studied her and inclined her head, arms folded but posture relaxing. Her dark eyes sparkled with something that was definitely not anger – though her frown had not yet completely disappeared.

“Well,” Cassandra began slowly, “if you truly wish to improve your swordsmanship, I am willing to help.”

What? Harding's mind froze in white panic. Had she heard correctly? “You – you would? Truly?”

Now Cassandra's frown dissolved completely. “I would not offer to train you in jest.”

“Well, I- would be honored.” Harding managed weakly with a smile, still feeling frozen to the spot.

Cassandra extended her hand and Harding grasped it with all the strength she could muster while still feeling faint with what had just transpired. Would she really train with Cassandra?

“Tomorrow at sunrise, then,” Cassandra said with what Harding could have sworn was an amused lilt to her voice, “bring a practice sword and shield," she added with a twitch of her mouth before walking back over to the training dummies.

Harding watched her leave, still incredulous at what had just happened. She then swiftly made her escape into the Herald's Rest. If this was to be her last night before she died to a most expertly wielded practice sword, she would need a strong drink at least.


End file.
